


touch

by claimedbydaryl



Series: all forms of communication [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Sweethearts, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Porn With Plot, Relationship Study, Tender Sex, or should i say, this is my fav set of tags ever wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10045517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claimedbydaryl/pseuds/claimedbydaryl
Summary: Their first kiss was a memory, hazy-soft with age and half-formed thought, but when they kiss now it is brighter, clearer, kinder.





	

**Author's Note:**

> my editor [lauren](http://2012meme.tumblr.com/) is the light of my life, my special sunflower, my perfectly greasy chicken thigh fillets. without her i am a ruin of ash, desperate dreams, and unchecked aggression. (read: thanks for editing this piece of shit, dicknut).
> 
> also this is a companion piece of [message sent](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8160638/chapters/18700820)!!! there's like a one sentence reference to it, but... y'know... self-promotion and all that #yeetyeet.

“Do you remember the first time you kissed me?”

Iwaizumi stepped outside of the shower, running a towel across the back of his water-damp neck. His gaze flickered upwards to meet Oikawa’s in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, his skin prickling in the steam-thick heat. He shrugged in an unthinking gesture of carelessness—he had never travelled well, he just wanted to sleep.

“Hajime,” Oikawa said again.

Instead of reverting to his usual behaviour, wherein all Oikawa said or did could be glanced off and considered inane, Iwaizumi _looked_.

Dressed in alien cartoon patterned pyjama pants and a sweater that was soft with a hundred launderings, Oikawa wasn’t sparkling with the self-assured glimmer of confidence, he wasn’t posturing. He was stripped to his private image, found between languid, sunlight mornings and exhaustion-laden nights on the couch or spent hunched over a desk.

Having understood each aspect of Oikawa for the larger part of his life, Iwaizumi knew that looking at Oikawa now—at the long, deft fingertips massaging peppermint-scented lotion into his cheeks, staring at Iwaizumi with a rare kind of thoughtful patience—that Oikawa was himself. His real self, intense in his seriousness, vulnerable too.

Sparing a moment to wipe himself freshly dry and discard his towel, Iwaizumi stepped close to Oikawa. Padding over the smooth bathroom tiles, he slipped his arms around Oikawa’s waist, tucking his head over his shoulder. Between them, it was a normal gesture, familiar with the concept of intimate contact, of offering unspoken support through touch.

“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” Iwaizumi asked, the words muffled against the artful wisp of Oikawa’s hairline. His attention drifted downwards, placing a gentle kiss to the corded muscle of Oikawa’s neck, attempting to placate him.

“I can’t remember, that’s why I was asking you, Iwa-chan! There were so many people before you who had pledged their eternal love and devotion to me, so you can hardly expect me to remember—”

“Tooru.”

“Fine,” Oikawa sighed in compliant resignation. His behaviour was a reflex, a method used to be liked in public, underestimated in his dedication to his work, and to mask his obvious insecurities. “I remember everything, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi smiled into Oikawa’s skin.

“I kissed you on my fifteenth birthday.”

The late evening had been warm with the humid stickiness of summer, like the weight of steam pressing against thin clothes and bare skin alike, time feeling as if it had slowed. And maybe the universe had stilled in that instant, with Oikawa and Iwaizumi remaining in the wake of their friend’s departure to laze in wooden chairs, the ambient glow of paper lanterns scattered overhead.

Iwaizumi remembered his elbow pressing flush to Oikawa’s, their wooden armrests overlapping, feet knocking together, and then—he remembered what happened next, unfolding in a flash of momentous firsts. Oikawa’s entire being had been shaking when he confessed, whispering in the fear that he could be condemned for liking his own sex, that he could lose his friends and his future career for something as simple as loving someone, that Iwaizumi could—would—hate him for it.

It was a blurred tableau of images after that, but Iwaizumi knew he had spoken with such fierce anger that it had shocked Oikawa silent, that he’d said something about Oikawa not needing to do things alone, that he’d always be there. Another admission had been lost in the violent outpouring of Iwaizumi’s emotion, but there was a moment when Oikawa’s eyes had widened, when he had reached for Iwaizumi and fitted his trembling lips to his best friend’s.

“And you kissed me right after,” Oikawa finished, because Iwaizumi had.

Tightening his arms around Oikawa, Iwaizumi pressed a few more fluttering kisses along his nape, smiling again when Oikawa turned his chin sidewards, searching for the wet heat of Iwaizumi’s mouth.

Their kiss was a sweet melding of touch, an affirmation grounded in the present knowledge that Oikawa needn’t be scared, that Iwaizumi would act as his stalwart foundation of support for the remainder of their shared existence.

Pulling apart, Oikawa turned in a complete circle to face Iwaizumi, utilising the available space to frame Iwaizumi’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones in broad swipes. Heartbeat slowing to a gentle thud, Iwaizumi's feet arched as he stood on his tiptoes to catch Oikawa’s mouth in another kiss, chaste and fleeting, but innately affectionate.

“Did seeing Suga and Sawamura today bring all this on?” Iwaizumi prompted, curious but not demanding.

Oikawa nodded, pressing their foreheads together. “Something like that,” he said.

“They just met for the first time, Tooru.”

“I know.”

“Whatever happens to them, good or bad, has nothing to do with us.”

Oikawa opened his eyes. “I know, Hajime.”

“Then stop worrying about it.” Bumping their noses together in a playful gesture, Iwaizumi noticed the strained lines of Oikawa’s face softening, the dark smudge of fatigue beneath his eyes wielding less of a blow to Iwaizumi’s stomach.

It was beautiful, knowing that he alone could watch genuine emotion transform Oikawa, his expression lightening in a span of a few seconds. Iwaizumi felt his diaphragm expand with a loaded breath of glee, happiness radiating in his bones, like a pleased hum.

Overcome with the sensation of building laughter, of needing to prolong the weightless joy of this moment in time, Iwaizumi leaned forward to loop his arms around Oikawa’s thighs, lifting him up in one interrupted motion. Oikawa was laughing into Iwaizumi’s hair, legs wrapped around him in an instinctive embrace, and he continued to laugh after Iwaizumi dropped him onto the soft comforter of their bed. He was laughing still when Iwaizumi followed him down soon after, but Oikawa stopped laughing when Iwaizumi kissed him, their bodies slotting together.

Oikawa raised a brow at the implication of their position, refusing to acknowledge how his chest had hitched at the sudden weight of Iwaizumi pressing into him.

“Is this how you suggest I stop worrying?” Oikawa asked, less question and more innuendo.

“Are you complaining?”

Humming in consideration, Oikawa tilted his head to the side to offer the bare line of his neck under Iwaizumi’s dark gaze. A pleased noise escaped him when Iwaizumi relented, kissing the slope just beneath Oikawa’s ear, the slow tentativeness of the action almost embarrassing. Hands mapping the strong frame of Iwaizumi’s shoulders, Oikawa widened the spread of his legs.

Iwaizumi’s teeth grazed Oikawa’s skin, not quite a bite, but sharp enough for Iwaizumi to know it warranted a triumphant grin from Oikawa. Fitting into the newfound space between Oikawa’s thighs, Iwaizumi’s pelvis pushed against the cradle of Oikawa’s groin, a trill of breathless excitement skating over his skin at the first hint of contact.

Rising above Oikawa in a slow slide of muscle and flesh together, Iwaizumi kissed him once, twice, thrice. His tongue flicked against the seam of Oikawa’s lips, enticing to part his mouth—Iwaizumi would’ve remarked on Oikawa’s quickness to comply if not for how it made heat coil low in his abdomen, how it made him want to press the shape of himself into Oikawa.

“You want to?” Iwaizumi didn’t need to say more, the intention evident.

“Want what, Iwa-chan? Want you to hold me in your big, strong arms—”

Iwaizumi did commit to taking Oikawa’s skin between his teeth now, to silence him. Yelping, fingers pressed to his neck in a dramatic show of affront, Oikawa slapped his palm against the muscled length of Iwaizumi’s bicep as he drew backwards. Kneeling on the bed, one hand curled over Oikawa’s raised knee, Iwaizumi waited until Oikawa acquiesced, nodding before motioning for Iwaizumi to continue.

“Lift your hips and shut up.” Iwaizumi’s expression remained unchanged as Oikawa stretched out in one sinuous movement, securing his feet flat on the mattress before raising his hips, the movement flexing the taut muscles of his abdomen.

“Make me yours,” Oikawa said, the curve of his mouth a tease in itself.

His own mouth forming a flat, unimpressed line, Iwaizumi hooked his fingers into Oikawa’s waistline and proceeded to tug his pants off with an unceremonious lack of preamble. Oikawa made a noise of affront, hand pressed to his chest in mock scandalisation, but then Iwaizumi was fitting in the space between his legs, the sudden influx of bare skin almost alarming.

Iwaizumi grasped the hem of Oikawa’s sweater. “You gonna—”

“You’re acting like this our first time,” Oikawa interrupted, rising upwards to bat Iwaizumi’s hands away. He pulled his shirt off himself, resting back on his hands to look at Iwaizumi from under the coquettish flutter of his lashes, the lean, naked curve of his body a clear invitation to touch.

“You weren’t trying so hard the first time,” Iwaizumi noted, kissing the side of Oikawa’s neck.

“But you were so nervous, I had to get you to focus on me otherwise who knows what might’ve have happened. I was doing my civil duty.”

Answering in a noncommittal hum, Iwaizumi trailed an open-mouthed line of kisses down the slope of Oikawa’s clavicle, brushing his fingers along Oikawa’s side. Iwaizumi grinned as Oikawa shivered at the touch, knowing he could be undone in a few decisive movements. It was a symphony he’d practised countless times over, the notes now memorised—and Iwaizumi had long since mastered the ballad of unravelling the grand king Oikawa Tooru.

Taking Oikawa’s flesh between his teeth, the path of Iwaizumi’s hand dipped lower, curling around Oikawa’s half-hard cock. He stroked him once, the pressure light and experimental, noting Oikawa’s sharp inhale, and the quick regulation of his breath. Iwaizumi grunted in consideration before diverting his attention heavenwards, mouth finding Oikawa’s, appeased at his willingness to part his lips, inviting Iwaizumi inside him.

Tightening his grip around Oikawa, Iwaizumi’s back bowed in a sinuous flex, driving them so close together that Iwaizumi couldn’t form thought for an instant, Oikawa shuddering beneath him. Wild with the weak, unthinking sound of Oikawa’s pleasure, Iwaizumi’s hips rolled forward unbidden, friction burning between them in a searing burst of contact.

“Hajime,” Tooru whimpered, one hand curling around Iwaizumi’s neck to anchor him closer. His legs moved with the same base instinct to pull Iwaizumi down, down, down.

Lost to the shift of muscle and flesh and Oikawa’s muffled cries, Iwaizumi whispered Oikawa’s name into the damp crook of his neck, driven half-mad with the thick musk of sex. The room filled with sounds and movements that were unmistakeable, that enhanced Iwaizumi’s focus on needing to unwind Oikawa, to draw sounds deeper from his chest, to reduce his satisfied teasing and theatrical moans to high, breathless whines.

“Hajime,” Oikawa said again, shakier, more telling of his singular wants.

Growling at the submissive note in Oikawa’s voice, Iwaizumi pressed nearer to him. Oikawa’s legs had slid over Iwaizumi’s hips before, granting him the power to thrust forward into the direct space of Oikawa’s groin, their pelvises slotting together in a fit that was so tight that Iwaizumi was forced to withdraw his hand.

It was messier now, more reliant on practised movements of stimulated fucking, heat, and wetness gathering at one specific point of contact between them. Iwaizumi was panting, and the rough cadence of Oikawa’s breathing was broken with intermittent gasps. Oh, and their hands—Iwaizumi’s was braced beside Oikawa for a semblance of foundation, but Oikawa’s was gripping him at the roots, sliding and scraping and pressing into the grooves of Iwaizumi’s muscles, faint claw marks left in his wake.

“Hajime, _fuck_.”

“I know,” he gritted out, “give me a sec, I need lube—”

“You don’t, I don’t want it—I want you now.”

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw, tempering his demanding pulse of his arousal, before kissing Oikawa in placation. “You do need it,” he was saying, despising how he needed to pull from Oikawa’s embrace to rummage through a bedside drawer.

“Fuck it, _fuck it_ , just fuck me—”

It was too long before Iwaizumi returned to the place he had left, filled with a deep-rooted satisfaction at how quick, how desperate, Oikawa was to slide his arms and legs and lips around him again. There was a deliberate length of space between them now, despite Oikawa’s attempts to bridge the distance, back arching off the bed, the startling brush of their cocks together eliciting a fire-hot spark of want along Iwaizumi’s spine—strong enough to make him briefly contemplate the consequences of forgoing patience.

He didn’t in the end, because he knew it would lead to the same careless mistakes of their initial inexperience, and Iwaizumi could never find it in himself to see Oikawa’s pain as nothing less than tragic. Instead, Iwaizumi was created to soothe Oikawa’s wounds—self-inflicted or otherwise—and to mend what had been hurt, to act as his crutch.

And as Oikawa breathed into the solid breath of Iwaizumi, mouth open and wet against him, Iwaizumi knew that the last thing he would ever wish to do was harm Oikawa.

Catching Oikawa’s lips in in an uncoordinated clash of half-formed feeling, Iwaizumi kissed him with the purpose to wipe Oikawa’s mind clear of doubts, of fears, to reduce his existence to this sole moment. Oikawa tried to speak, to ask a question that Iwaizumi didn’t have the available coherence to answer, and instead he dipped his lube-slick fingers below.

The first slide of Iwaizumi’s fingers into Oikawa was slow with restraint, the second to accustom Oikawa to the burn of the stretch, and the third was wielded with the intent to prepare, to substitute for what would soon follow.

“Inside me, now, _now_ , Hajime,” Oikawa was rambling, lids squeezed shut. “You should’ve been fucking me ten minutes ago.”

“Wait.”

“Hajime, please! I don’t care, just move, just fucking do something.”

“ _Wait_.”

Oikawa's hot breath fanning over Iwaizumi’s cheek, he felt tension gather in the brace of thighs, shoulders drawing together in an effort not to press Oikawa down and fuck with senseless abandon. And he knew Oikawa would revel in it too, would writhe and strain under the sheer weight of Iwaizumi over him. The firsthand knowledge of how much Oikawa wanted him still surprised Iwaizumi, how willing he was to be breakable—forged from the brittle gold cast that contrasted to Iwaizumi’s dependable iron armour.

The instant Iwaizumi pressed inside Oikawa, all sound was cut to an abrupt halt, the tremor of their conjoined bodies stilling with a sharp inhale that belonged to them both. Iwaizumi pushed, and Oikawa pulled, and it was a familiar union of sensation that Iwaizumi could scarce bear to acknowledge.

Oh, because how Iwaizumi loved Oikawa. How sometimes, between the sunlight filtering through the window to cast Oikawa in a radiant glow and the dark wave of nightfall softening the cut edges of his profile, Iwaizumi was overwhelmed. Because Oikawa was a marvel of strange, entwined parts, and Iwaizumi was the one person he allowed to learn the inner workings of him.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi breathed, a confession.

Nuzzling into Iwaizumi’s neck, he felt Oikawa nod against him—to move, or to affirm that he knew what Iwaizumi had revealed in the shaking syllables of his name, Iwaizumi didn’t know.

Iwaizumi knew he didn’t need to stop and ask, instead opting to do what Oikawa had wanted him to do for the past half hour. His hips rolled forward in a languid circle, testing Iwaizumi’s restraint and Oikawa’s lack of one, grinding his teeth at the enveloping heat of Oikawa around him. He continued to move, gentle and slow, drawing soft, shuddering noises from Oikawa’s throat.

Although Iwaizumi loved with the same fierceness that kindled Oikawa’s passion, he did not see the appeal in fucking with relentless want. Yes, sometimes he did push harder and grip tighter, but Oikawa was crafted to be an icon of reverence—and Iwaizumi knew he was susceptible to the unspoken commitment of unequivocal worship.

So, Iwaizumi decided to not fuck, but rather to treat Oikawa’s pleasure as his own.

Widening the span of his legs, Iwaizumi was able to press deeper into Oikawa in a powerful flex of his hips. The action was drawn-out, a prelude to how Iwaizumi would soon succumb to the exhilarating rush of burgeoning desire, of needing to feel and act without premeditated thought.

Oikawa clutched a handful of Iwaizumi’s hair, the sensual bend of his back straining as he tried to meet Iwaizumi’s thrusts in a blinding moment of merged contact. The low grunt of Iwaizumi’s breath masked the sound of Oikawa’s quiet whimper, his movements lapsing into a brief falter before Iwaizumi was thrusting into Oikawa, _hard_.

Iwaizumi felt his consciousness fade, felt him care less and less about pace or strength, and more about how Oikawa sounded. How his chest heaved at each repetitive shake of the bedframe, how he sometimes leaned into Iwaizumi for support or reassuring touch, how his hands skated downwards to take the flesh of Iwaizumi’s ass into his grasp and pull. One of Iwaizumi’s hands drifted to cup Oikawa’s thigh, pushing until both his knees bent, legs pressed to Iwaizumi’s sides.

The new angle was a mistake, a sudden blow to Iwaizumi’s stomach, too much at once—heat, skin sliding together, Oikawa a constant source of breathless noise. Iwaizumi half-hated, half-loved that high note of Oikawa’s voice, his pulse skittering at the sound of it, but he never wanted to not hear it. Never would tell Oikawa that he’d beg if he spoke like that, would crawl between Oikawa’s legs and suck him to oblivion.

However, it felt like tonight was reminiscent of their first time together. A reaffirmation that even when the initial excitement of their relationship had lapsed into comfortable companionship, Iwaizumi could press into Oikawa and feel as if it was a new experience, learning each secret of Oikawa’s body again.

“Harder,” Oikawa said, like he had at fifteen, sixteen, now.

“You’ll break.” Pushing his spread hands over the bed, Iwaizumi drew back a fraction to watch Oikawa unwind underneath him, pupils dilated and mouth red with Iwaizumi’s attention.

Oikawa was unconvinced. “I didn’t ask you to break me,” he said, fingers reaching to curl around Iwaizumi’s neck and bring him down to where he was before, interwoven so close together it was stifling. “I asked you to fuck me.”

Iwaizumi knew this was the one instance in Oikawa’s life where he would relinquish control, craving the insistent press of Iwaizumi’s fingertips into his flesh, a bruised patchwork of touch remaining in his wake. Because Oikawa trusted him to act without the intention to ever hurt him, Iwaizumi did as he was bid, the bed frame shuddering and—

Then Iwaizumi was thrusting, the force of it pushing Oikawa further up the rumpled comforter. One of Oikawa’s hands flung out, braced to the headboard, and the other fisted Iwaizumi’s hair, guiding him down, down, down.

Their lips met, just for a moment, because Iwaizumi was moving with such frantic vigour that it jostled them apart. Although Oikawa’s fingers tightened in a reflexive need for more but knowing he couldn’t expect to have all of Iwaizumi at once, he was smiling, and Iwaizumi felt his mouth adopting the same shape, but he couldn’t be sure.

Not when Oikawa was unfolded before him, all pale skin and long limbs, he couldn’t be sure.

Not when his arousal coiled low in his abdomen, he couldn’t be sure.

Although when Oikawa nuzzled into the side of Iwaizumi’s head again, Iwaizumi was sure that he was a fool for thinking Oikawa didn’t know him as well as he knew him, because then Oikawa was speaking in the same sensual tone that would foretell Iwaizumi’s downfall.

“Hajime,” Oikawa started. “Hajime, don’t stop.”

A groan escaped Iwaizumi’s throat, and as he was edging towards the precipice he reached down to stroke Oikawa’s cock again, wanting them to come together.

“You’re so far inside me, I can feel you—”

“Tooru.” It was a warning, because even when he was three seconds from climax, Iwaizumi didn’t want _this_ Oikawa, he wanted the real one. But then Oikawa was whispering into his hairline, his words causing Iwaizumi’s stomach to simmer with heat, the sensation building, cresting—

“Tooru, Too— _ru_ ,” Iwaizumi grunted, his mouth opening in silent elation as the tension in his frame tautened for a moment, and then snapped.

A wave of pleasure bled through him, tingling in his fingertips, singing in his veins. Iwaizumi remembered holding himself up through sheer will alone as he spilled deep inside Oikawa, couldn’t remember what Oikawa had said to him after, or the tremble of hands and lips to skin as Iwaizumi proceeded to stroke Oikawa to orgasm.

It didn’t take too long—never had—and then Oikawa’s spine was arching into a delicate bow, his entire being entwined with Iwaizumi’s, naked and sweat-damp and human. The electric buzz in Iwaizumi’s veins was a ballad of Oikawa’s name, so clear and loud Iwaizumi could hear his heart beating for Oikawa, and then he could scarce endure the idea of not kissing him at that exact moment.

 _I remember our first kiss_ , Iwaizumi meant to say.

Oikawa’s noise of blissful content was muffled as Iwaizumi kissed him without preamble, warm and gentle with untold affection. Iwaizumi didn’t feel the immediate need to move, nor did Oikawa, so he continued to kiss him, as languid and sweet as that summer night Oikawa turned fifteen.

_I could never forget it._

Instead, he said, “I remember our first kiss, and I remember all the ones after.”

**Author's Note:**

> me: haha let's write a fun lighthearted companion piece ft. iwaoi smut.  
> also me: lol here's a tender ass 3k ode to how much bicep-chan and prettykawa love & support each other.
> 
> me again: [tumblr](http://diggitydamnsebastianstan.tumblr.com/).


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